That Redheaded Rebel
by DamnHyper
Summary: Katniss and Gale weren't the only ones in Panem who wanted freedom of the Capitol. Lavinia was a rebel and though made mute because of her actions, being an Avox couldn't silence her spirit. Reviews appreciated.
1. Chapter 1

**Lavinia **

**Chapter 1: Frustration.**

*****_I __don__'__t __own __the __Hunger __Games.__Sob __sob._

I wake up to a small and drab room that holds a bed with a faded orange blanket. It takes me a few seconds to place where I am. Oh yes. My bedroom, District 8. And what day is it? Friday, still a work day. I slowly get up to wash myself and get dressed. A faded red shirt and dark brown pants. I do my best to comb the tangles out of my auburn locks, all the while still thinking about my dream.

In my dream, the Capitol didn't exist. They didn't rob us of our happiness. They didn't take the things we manufactured for _them_ and gave us a meagre amount of money in return. The Hunger Games didn't exist. Everyone was happy. All was bliss.

I've been having that dream for a while now. I guess it comes from the frustration of poverty we all suffer from. District 8, the district responsible for producing textiles. We have several farms where we harvest cotton and collect silk worms for boiling. Since I turned fourteen, four years ago, I've been old enough to work at the cotton farms. I work there from 7.00 am to 7.00 pm, harvesting cotton, planting cotton seeds and checking on the young cotton plants. The cotton we harvest will be sent to factories where people will weave them into sheets of fabric and dye them in a myriad of colours. They then will be sent to Capitol. We ship large amounts of fabrics to the Capitol because of the fickle nature of their fads. How I despise them, just taking what we have made for their foolish costumes, extravagant outfits, all the time oblivious to how much work went into producing these fabrics, the hundreds, thousands of hands that so exhaustingly plucked the cotton, boiled the silkworms, weaved the threads together. All to make their clothes. Which I'm sure are worn only once in their lives.

Before I leave my house, which happens to be in the lousiest part of District 8, the Hem, so called because it was located on the very outskirts of the land, I give my younger sister, Areanna, a kiss on the head. Both my parents have gone to the factories to work, leaving Areanna in the care of my uncle who is handicapped so he does not need to work, he only has one arm and a bad foot. Areanna is only five years old. I wonder what she, at this tender age, thinks of our world.

When I reach the cotton farm, my best friend, Orlando, is waiting for me. He is wearing his trademark grin, the one where only half his mouth curves up in a knowing way. I love that smile of his. "Hey, Lavvy-Savvy! Ready to pick cotton candy?" he asks playfully. Lavvy-Savvy is the nickname he uses for me. Cotton candy to us just means cotton, we nicknamed it cotton candy because it resembles the candy sold in the sweet shop. I've only ever tasted it once, when Orlando gave some to me out of his wages and it tasted like heaven. "Sure, sure." I say. Today I feel particularly dark that not even Orlando's humour and wit can dispel. Maybe it's the dream. Knowing we will never be free and perhaps a thousand years later, another girl called Lavinia might be feeling awful about a dream she had while she picks cotton in the cotton farm in District 8. The thought makes my heart even heavier and a shadow crosses my face.

"What's wrong Lav?" Orlando asks, his face creased with worry. I am very truthful to Orlando so I tell him, "I just think it's really unfair we have to work from dawn to dusk for the Capitol and they give us the Hunger Games in return. Things should fairer. They should know what it's like, to live in poverty." I know what I'm saying is dangerous, it could be well considered treason against the ever so glorious Capitol and President Snow. It could result in a whipping or getting noosed in front of all of District 8, as a warning to stay in line. Still I need an outlet to let out my feelings. Orlando smiles, "Well, who has never thought that before? It's about time Justice be served. Maybe," he says, as he gently plucks a tuft of cotton from a sapling, "we can start a rebellion." "Oh please! A rebellion? The last time the districts tried that, we failed and the Hunger Games is a yearly reminder of our failure!" I say, as I strip a plant of all its cotton. Still as the day passes, that's the only thing stuck on mind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Criminals of the Capitol**

I have a secret to tell. No-one but Orlando knows this because he went through the same thing. I wasn't born in District 8. I was a citizen of the Capitol. _Was_. My parents and Orlando's had committed some kind of crime in the Capitol when we were about ten years old and the government decided to spare them, but stripped them of their Capitol citizenship and exiled them, along with their children and relatives to District 8, where we now live. If you ask me, I'm quite grateful for it. Who knows what kind of monster I might turn out to be if I lived in the Capitol any longer. If you think that because they once lived in the Capitol, my parents must have some kind of freakish alterations on their bodies and speak with that idiotic accent, rolling excessively on the 'r' and hissing on the 's' and ending each sentence an octave higher, you're wrong. They speak quite normally and look decent enough. The fact that I was a product of that monstrous city incites me. Life in the Capitol wasn't that great, contrary to what many believe but we were never poor and went to bed with full bellies every night. But the only thing that linked friends together was being interested in the latest fad—which happened to be as fickle as the wind. One moment the latest trend was short skirts the next minute they were vintage and harem pants were all the rage. It was immensely frustrating trying to predict the tides of fashion, one day you could be the centre of attention for wearing a day-glow belt and the next you would be the laughing stock of your class.

Of course, keeping up with the latest trends left little to no room for studies so the courses in school were taught very slowly. What was supposedly ten year old work in the Capitol was eight year old work in the districts. It was very hard catching up with my classmates in District 8 but with some remedial sessions with the teachers and encouragement from some friends, I topped the class six months later. It gave me more satisfaction than setting a trend ever could.

Of course, with my parents being despised ex-citizens of the Capitol, you would think I would have been purposely been reaped for the Hunger Games along with Orlando but since we haven't been causing any trouble, I guess they decided to ignore us. And since the 68th Hunger Games have already passed, our names are out of the reaping ball for good. I do feel bad for the tributes though, the boy died in the bloodbath fighting for a spear and got stabbed from behind by his opponent's ally. The girl barely made it past the bloodbath and survived for a few days undisturbed by her camp until the Careers tracked her down. She couldn't run. She was bleeding heavily from both legs by the time she set up camp and when she made herself a tourniquet out of leaves, her legs were numb. As glad as I am that I will never go into these Hunger Games, I fear for Areanna. She might be reaped and I wouldn't be able to volunteer for her and I'm quite sure no-one else would.

Why does the Capitol do this to us? Why are they punishing us for the wrong deeds our ancestors committed? Why do they wish to torture us so? _Why?__Why?_ Back in the Capitol, my classmates would eagerly await the Games but I had always dreaded watching gory fights. All that blood! The guilt that must weigh on the victor. The sorrow of the families of the dead children. Why my friends never saw that side of games confuses me. They always wondered why I covered my eyes when the goriest of fights came down to the last two.

_(Flashback)_

"_Lavinia! Why are you covering your eyes? The biggest showdown in history is going on! Who do you think will win? 1 or 2? Everyone's betting on 1 just because he's hot and good with that spear but I think 2 stands a chance, her wounds are less severe than his." yells Ariadne, one of my classmates. Reluctantly, I removed my hands from eyes just in time to see the District 2 girl stagger over to boy while holding the blood pouring from her side and stab him in the heart when he is busy retching out blood and bile. The cannon fires and the girl is crowned victor. A lot of people around me groan and money slips between hands while a few others cheer and scream her name. "Cleo! Cleo! Cleo!" turn away, trying not to puke in disgust. Disgust in the fighting and disgust that my classmates can find this entertaining._

_(End Flashback)_

Maybe Orlando's right. A rebellion, if successful, would do us a world of good.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Let the flames begin**

On Saturday, I get up excitedly and head for Orlando's house, which is just three houses away from mine. I see him sitting outside his house, his eyes focused on the sky and deep in thought. "Orlando!" I call to him. He breaks into a wide grin and rushes forward to greet me. "Hey, Lavvy, so what're you doing outside my house at 6.30 in the morning?" "Tell me first why you're sitting on the dirt outside your house at 6.30 in morning." I retort back at him but with a playful smile on my face. He shrugs. "Eh, just thinking about…stuff." "Were you thinking about an uprising?" "No! Ok…yes…why?" "Well, maybe we should rebel against the Capitol. I have an idea on how we can spread the news in secret, without those dratted Peacekeepers finding out…"

Orlando's nonchalant expression suddenly turns to one of seriousness. "Really? Maybe we can overthrow the Peacekeepers. Maybe the Hunger Games will finally stop! If we can strike some kind of bargain with them in exchange for our products, maybe District 8 will be counted out of the Games! Remember what Ms Alacia told us? _The __Capitol __is __unstable __as __it __depends __on __the __twelve __districts __for __everything.__The __Hunger __Games __exist __to __keep __them __in __line __and __remind __them__of __their __past __failure __to __overthrow __the __Capitol.__If __a __rebellion __were __to __happen,__we __wouldn__'__t __survive._"

Ms Alacia was our teacher in school back in the Capitol. She had blonde hair with green tips. We never knew her real eye colour because she changed her contact lenses every single day. One day it would be blood red in colour and the next a blinding neon yellow.

I tell Orlando my plan: We are going to bake cookies. Inside each cookie is a message telling the recipient to revolt against the Capitol. One cookie with a message inside it will be placed with other cookies and put on a family's doorstep. It will help the families with their hunger and the Peacekeepers will not find out. My idea was inspired by an ancient tale of how some people from a distant land called China defeated their enemies by hiding messages of an upcoming attack inside cakes. It was pretty ingenious if you ask me, considering that their plan actually worked. If their plan worked so many thousands of years ago, why shouldn't it work for District 8? I learned to bake in the Capitol at a very young age and I always loved it but I don't get to do it here very often because whatever meagre earnings we have are put to buying meat and grain. Orlando agrees and we set up recipe that is relatively inexpensive but quite delicious.

When I get back to my house for breakfast I'm positively buzzing with excitement. A plan for the rebellion. This could be our ticket to freedom.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: A rebellion in the making:**

The next few week Orlando and I work extra hard at the cotton fields to get more money. While part of our money still goes towards the family, the extra money saved over a period of time is spent on the ingredients needed to bake the cookies. We will bake roughly three hundred cookies, package them into packs of five but only one cookie of the five holds the message.

When we buy the ingredients, Orlando and I spilt up which ingredients to take home. I will carry the flour and raisins used to write the message and he will store everything else in his house since we will bake there.

After work, I have dinner with family as usual and head to bed afterwards but instead of sleeping, I lie on my bed, not moving but listening for utter silence which means my family is asleep. After an hour or so, I am confident my family is asleep. Slowly, I drag out the sack of flour and raisins from under my bed and creep out of the house as stealthily as I can. But when I reach the door, I know I am in trouble- Peacekeepers! They're patrolling the district! But I know I can't back down. Orlando is in his house patiently waiting for me to come and the ingredients are going to spoil if we don't put them to use. There are about three to five Peacekeepers patrolling the Hem. I think I can do this. But I've never broken a single rule in District 8 before! Well, there's a first time for everything I guess.

I slowly open the door and creep out, my eyes darting left and right for Peacekeepers. I see none. Seizing the opportunity, I swiftly pad my way over to the next house. I check for Peacekeepers. Oh no! There's one. And he has a torchlight with him! The beam of his torchlight sweeps the area like an accusatory finger, trying to find a guilty party to arrest. Quickly, I duck behind a bin outside the house just as the Peacekeeper approaches. I hold my breath. _This __is __it.__I__'__m __going __to __get __caught._ Miraculously, he moves on.

This pattern repeats itself until I reach Orlando's house. The door is slightly ajar as I step in and shut the door, panting heavily. _That,_ I think to myself, _was __too __scary __for __words._ A soft light emanates from the kitchen, I follow it and see Orlando, his face illuminated by the candles he has put up. "Hey, I got the flour and raisins. Ready to bake?" "Yeah. What took you so long?" "Peacekeepers. They're patrolling the Hem." He looks at me worriedly asking me if I got caught. I tell him no, suddenly distracted by how lovely his face looks in the candlelight. Even with his face scrunched up with worry, he looks kind of cute…

What happens in the next few hours is a blur. Orlando mixes the ingredients, I bake, he scatters the raisins of the 'normal' cookies and I carefully make a message out of raisins in sixty of the three hundred cookies I bake: _REVOLT! __THE __CAPITOL __HAS __MADE __US __SUFFER __TOO __LONG! __JUSTICE __MUST __BE __SERVED!_ _A __REBELLION __MUST __BE __FORMED!_

We bundle up the cookies in leaves we collected over the weeks and put them in two bags and set of for the houses but leave one set at Orlando's and my doorstep, so we won't be suspected of sending the cookies with the traitorous messages. Leaving the cookies at people's doorsteps, I feel like a mythical figure from the past known as Santa Claus, who during the twenty-fifth of December every year, delivered presents to deserving children all around the world. Except that Santa Claus didn't have to worry about menaces known as Peacekeepers catching him.

By the time Orlando and I deliver all of the cookies, I am exhausted and I only have a few more hours of sleep left before work. Orlando walks me home and I hug him in gratitude as he encircles his arms around me. Before leaving, he gives me a peck on the cheek. I wonder if he could see me blushing in the fading darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Friends?**

I don't sleep when I get to my bed, shaking with exhaustion and anxiety. I'm too nervous. I never knew the Peacekeepers patrolled District 8 at night, looking for people out late to interrogate and bust for suspicious activity. Every time I hear the scuffle of a Peacekeeper's boots, I stiffen up with terror and try to look as if I'm asleep when the beam of a flashlight shines into my room, momentarily illuminating it. I don't even dare to draw my curtains shut. It's far too risky. I hope they don't notice anything strange about the bundle of leaves left outside some houses. Hopefully they think it's just a clump of leaves.

I'm so paranoid that I don't sleep at all and I try to occupy my thoughts with Orlando. Now you're probably thinking that naturally, being friends for nearly a _decade_, some kind of romance was _bound_ to happen- sooner or later but in all ten years- nothing. I remember the day I met him…a lifetime ago…

_(Flashback)_

_I sat up straight in my chair and once again felt that wet sensation on my back. I whirled my head around to find Alethea and a few other girls trying to stifle giggles- and failing miserably to do so. I checked the back of my white cotton shirt and found a pale purple stain. Watermelon juice. Great, just great. This was the third time this week that she had done the old dip-the-ends-of-someone's-hair-in-your-water-bottle trick. "Alethea! Would you quit dipping my hair in your water bottle?" _

"_What water bottle?" Alethea asked innocently, widening her already genetically widened doe eyes and batting her glittery eyelashes. It was a bold lie. I could clearly see her transparent water bottle on the floor, filled with the purple juice that had stained my shirt._

"This_,__" __I __hissed __at __her,__yanking __the __end __of __my __braid __so __she __could __see.__It __was __still __dripping __with __juice._

"_Oh…must've been my mistake. My bad." The apology would have sounded real if not for the triumph smirk on her face that spelled out "Owned you, AGAIN, sucker!"_

"_LIAR!" I retorted, maybe a little too loudly because Ms Alacia heard me. "Lavinia Alume, lower your voice! There are people who are studying and it is already hard enough without your awful screeching!"_

"_But…but Ms! Alethea dipped my hair into…" My voice faltered as I saw that Alethea had gone back to studying her workbook. But I could still that smirk. I balled up fists in anger. "This is your final warning Lavinia before I call your parents. Do you understand?" _

"_Yes Ms." I said, through gritted teeth. "Good." Then Ms Alacia went back to her phone._

"_Umm, __excuse __me __Ms, __Lavinia __over __there __does __have __a __reason __for __yelling __at __Alethea.__For __the __third __time __this __week,__Alethea __has __dipped __Lavinia__'__s __braid __into __her __water __bottle __that __contains __watermelon __juice __so __it __stains __the __back __of __her __shirt,__" __piped __a __voice. __Now __who __was _that_?__Although __a __fair __number __of __people __despised __Alethea,__with __the __exception __of __her __simpleminded __posse __who __all __adored __her,__nobody __dared __to __tell __the __teacher __of __her __deeds.__After __all,__she __was __the __teacher__'__s __pet __and __had __a __way __of __knowing __everybody__'__s __secrets; __her __spies __would __become __your __best __friend, __then __let __you __pour __out __your __secret __to __them __and __report __back __to __Alethea, __who __would __use __the __secrets __against __you.__And __nobody __knew __who __her __spies __were. __Her __parents __were __a __Head __Gamemaker __and __an __important __official __in __the __Capitol. __Alethea__'__s __grades __weren__'__t __exactly __the __best,__but __not __the __worst __but __always __ended __up __one __of __the __top __three__ '__high __scorers__' __every__year,__thanks__to__her__parents__' __powerful__influence._

_I searched the room. There he was! A skinny, redheaded boy with sparkling emerald eyes that danced with mischief themselves whose name was Orlando Tiber. The class clown. I think he was probably the only one in class Alethea couldn't trap him in a gossipy headlock because although he was well-liked, he never got close with anyone, never did anything wrong. Even the teachers laughed at his antics that only done by him would be considered funny. _

"_Oh really now?" asked Ms Alacia, not even glancing up from her phone but with her purple eyebrows raised. _

"_See __for __yourself.__" __he __challenged.__Ms __Alacia __shrugged __and __stalked __over __to __my __desk __to __examine __the __back __of __my __shirt __then __the __content __of__Alethea__'__s __water __bottle.__ "__Miss __Dannigar,__may __I __speak __to __you __for __a __moment __outside?__" __her __tone __of __voice __was __sweet __but __possessed __an __undertone __of __force __that __said,_"That's an order, not a request, young lady."

_As __Alethea __got __up __from __her __table, __Ms __Alacia __swept __her __eyes __over __her __work __disdainfully.__Mostly __doodles __and __chat __notes.__ "__Take __that __along __with __you, __we __are __going __to __have __one _extremely _interesting __conversation __about __your __behaviour __and __what __exactly __you __were __doing __in __my __class,__aren__'__t __we __now?__" __she __said,__her __voice __dropping __an __octave __lower._

_It was common knowledge that Ms Alacia despised Alethea's parents, Anglo and Armani Dannigar for bribing her with little money to treat Alethea extra-nice when Alethea was as nice as a District Twelve toilet , so justice must finally be happening to her- an excuse to take out her anger on their 'princess' for a perfectly valid reason._

_Most of the class, even her supposedly 'loyal' posse had sat up straight to watch the notorious Alethea Dannigar get yelled at. What happened was not what we originally wanted- Alethea getting each and every one of her eyebrows yanked out with cussing and slapping of that perfect face- but it satisfied us enough, since the principal happened to walk by while Ms Alacia was giving Alethea the most severe lecture of her life._

"_Hey, thanks so much." I whispered to Orlando, whose pale cheeks seemed to turn pink when I looked at him. He gave me a wink and stuck out his hand, "Friends?" "Okay." I gave him a tiny smile which he returned with an elated grin. "I doubt she'll be causing you trouble anytime soon." "I doubt she'll be causing anyone trouble. Ever." Just then, Ms Alacia returned with a satisfied smirk on her face along with a trembling Alethea and ordered everyone back to work. I returned to my worksheet but I swear I could still feel Orlando's eyes on me. I turned in his direction but he was focussing on his calculator with a ghost of a blush lingering on his snow white cheeks._


End file.
